Taking the syrah noir plunge

Well, the answer may not help. Vintners clip and graft all the time, focusing a desired trait from a mother vine, forcing nature to evolve.

Really, you don’t want to ask. Push a winemaker too far into a conversation on vines and you will hear a recitation of variants, how clone number 470 from Garonne in France cuts yields and concentrates flavor, that 99 — a Rhone cutting — ripens later than the rest, 877 runs wild, 383 relishes cool weather. One man brought stems clipped from Hermatige. Another found a decades old Paul Masson crop.

So if Laujor’s Cheryl Lucido launches into an explanation of the origins of her estate grown syrah noir as a French clone of the more famed syrah, just nod turn your attention to the glass.

A swirl and a sip will tell you that the classic syrah puts up a bold face, though its nerves are too delicate when edging to the unknown. Syrah noir, on the other hand, steps to the precipice, shrugs and takes the adventurous leap.

Only a hint of this unaffected, audacious spirit shows in the bouquet. The 2016 Laujor syrah noir offers aromas of blueberry jam and blackberry tarts, with a dusting of citrus zest to liven up the dark notes. Yet there are streaks of smoke and pepper and a lurking impression of tangled wood and weary graphite to suggest something more than an easy drinking wine.

Although friendly on the nose, the syrah noir is a rich, intense, almost brooding sip. The fruits have stewed down from freshly picked into a dense compote of dark berries and black cherry. Bright juices, warm vanilla and gentle white pepper try appeal for kindness, but a dark flow of chocolate, heavily trodden earth and lingering smoke grab your attention.

The wine is vaguely sweet, but it refuses to wallow. Residual sugars sink into the shadows, leaving the impression of jam — a natural sweetness.

Laujor’s 2016 syrah noir shows you a little of everything — the warmth and welcome of fruit at the top, the layers of spice and earth and depth as it plummets.

“It goes through a lot of things, from front palate to back,” Lucido acknowledged. “It’s very rich. It has good fruit, but then dries out on the back.”

She achieves this ride by settling the wine into once-used French oak barrels and stepping aside for a year. She resists the temptation to meddle, even when fermentation begins to grumble and slow, leaving that pleasant trace of residual sugar.

“We don’t push it,” Lucido said. “It’s not sweet, but it has a perceived sweetness.”

Because of this — and perhaps also because of the joyride from civilization to rustic wilderness the wine seems bent on sharing — Lucido presents the syrah noir in smaller bottles, the kind more associated with dessert.

Lucido also wants you to kick back and enjoy the plunge. Her 2016 syrah noir may be intense, but also thrilling. And when these two aspects find balance, it becomes a rich, enjoyable, contemplative sipping wine.

To add a little whimsy to the mix, she stocked the Laujor tasting room with optional glass straws, bent at the tip — classy and frivolous at the same time.

It’s a touch suited to syrah noir. One can tap into it and just relax and watch stunning scenery roll by. Or one can ponder the details, the shades and hues, the content delivered by this clone number or that plot of earth.